Catalyst
by hevaann
Summary: Sherlock often just needs one final piece to complete the puzzle. John/Sherlock


**Catalyst **_Set sometime after Series 1: Episode 2_

I groan outwardly at the feel and sound of someone flopping onto the bed next to me. My bed. Someone who seems perfectly at home leaning against the bed head; fingers steepling, still dressed in that dark shirt and trousers. Reluctantly I look at the illuminated face of the clock next to me – 3.30. AM. I groan again.

"I was asleep" I attempt, knowing fine well it is futile.

"There is something we are missing, something obvious."

"Couldn't you go talk to your scull? He hasn't got to get up at 6 to go to a clinic"

"Something's not adding up" Sherlock slams his fists down onto the mattress, "Why can't I see it?" He lies himself down in one swift move then, turning to towards me, is centimetres from my face.

With anyone else it would have been awkward, abnormal, but this is Sherlock and normality is one of the few things he is still to get a grasp on. About the only thing really.

"It should be in here." He jabs one finger at my forehead, tips on my temple, "You saw it too. But then again – people can be so stupid, so inobservant."

"If you were going to insult me couldn't you have done it when I was awake?"

"You are awake" he responds, "Plus, it wasn't an insult, merely an observation" He is facing the ceiling now, head on the pillow next to mine.

"Well you just think it through, I'm going back to sleep."

"Not possible. I need you."

I start to get out of the bed, "In that case _I'll need_ a coffee."

"No" He has grabbed hold of my hand. Which is annoying because I'd rather be using it to hit him. Slowly I get back onto the bed.

"It's got to be something to do with the paint." He muses, having let go of my hand: he knows I'm not going anywhere.

"Has it occurred to you it might have something to do with the girlfriend?"

"Is she important?" He has turned to look at me again, disbelief plastered across his face.

"Well yes, relationships – good or bad – can cause all sort of feelings; lead to all kinds of actions." I am using my hands to illustrate my point. He shakes his head at me.

"Not a factor."

"Maybe not for you, but for normal people..."

He grunts at the insinuation.

I continue "For normal people it plays a big part. It can alter a person's view of the world. Take Sarah-"

"Who?"

"My girlfriend"

"Ahh" He never forgets, he just does it to annoy me.

"My judgement was seriously altered knowing she was stuck in front of that arrow" I am waving my hands about again. Self-consciously I drop them back down on the bed.

"But that's a weakness – a flaw in your make-up"

"_Human_ make-up Sherlock! You will never be the best detective in the world until you can appreciate and – heaven forbid – begin to understand that!"

"So emotions, feelings, can give you a different perspective?" He is pensive.

"Exactly" My eyelids are beginning to droop again; sometimes talking to Sherlock is like banging my head against a brick wall. When I snap my eyes back open he has scooted over and is leering over me. I don't trust the look on his face.

"What are you doing?"

"I would have thought that was obvious"

"No, not really" He is too close for comfort, the warmth of his breath against my cheek.

"Well the logical conclusion from our prior conversation is that in order for me to gain a new perspective on this case I need to experience some emotion."

"Great." The word gets stuck in my throat. I haven't dared to move. "We'll go out prowling tomorrow. So now I can get some sleep? Yeah?"

Then he leans forward and kisses me. Firm, and not entirely unexpected. When he breaks away I try not to show that I am my attempt to maintain my breathing. I expect he notices anyway.

"So, solved it yet?" I am being flippant. It's easier.

"Inconclusive – need more data." And then he is kissing me again, his body now pressing down on mine – his smart clothes now against my ruffled pyjamas. And heaven help me I am kissing him back. I am far too easy.

He suddenly snaps away "It is the paint! It was custom made – therefore it can be traced. We just need to get onto local hardware..." He trails off seeing the look on my face.

"Bad timing?" He asks.

I nod. "You better go solve your case." I say, an attempt at emotionless.

"It'll wait till morning" He responds, his lips finding mine again before I can point out that it is already, in fact, morning.


End file.
